


How to advance your career through marriage

by Naraht



Series: Mirror universe [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Abusive Relationship, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Dark, Dubious Consent, F/M, Infidelity, Mirror Universe, Pregnancy, Sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-18
Updated: 2010-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:31:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naraht/pseuds/Naraht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the mirror universe, Jack Crusher's death was no accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to advance your career through marriage

**Author's Note:**

> Passion, infidelity, revenge… all that, and more! Needless to say, it's a mirror universe story, because this sort of thing never happens on TNG. The title is from the book with which Jack Crusher proposed to Beverly; the premise is borrowed from Diane Duane's excellent novel, _Dark Mirror_.
> 
> It took me three months to write this story, and I never would have finished it if it hadn't been for Janis, who kept me working; Helen, who listened to me obsess endlessly about both character and plot; and my mother, who remained resolutely unshockable.

"And Mrs. Barrett mourned for him  
Five lively months at most"  
\--Rudyard Kipling, _The Story of Uriah_

"Would you enjoy being a captain's woman?" asked Picard. He was sitting on the Crushers' couch, seemingly casual. Beverly watched him warily—Jack's dangerous friend, the man who had made him a Lieutenant Commander at twenty-seven, and had promised that he would rise higher yet. "The prestige," he continued, "the power... I think it would suit you."

"Oh, and I intend to be one," she said coolly.

"I'm glad to hear that. It would be a shame if you were to stay buried in some laboratory or on some hospital ship. You're capable of so much more."

"Jack will make captain by thirty-five, if I have anything to do with it—and be the youngest captain in Starfleet." She paused to pour herself another glass of wine, and glanced thoughtfully out the window at the darkening sky; Jack was late getting home, as usual. "I could tell from the start that he would succeed. As could you."

"Indeed. Jack is an exceptional man, and only too aware of it. But, Beverly, if I can presume to offer you some advice... it doesn't do to narrow your field of vision too much."

"I don't know what you mean."

She looked down, feigning absorption in the stem of her wineglass.

"You're still a young woman, and you have a long way yet to climb. Have you ever thought of aiming... higher than Jack?"

Her eyes, smokily rimmed with black, widened. "I'm in it for the long haul," she said carefully, her voice dropping despite the fact that they were alone—or nearly alone—in the apartment. "I have my own position in Starfleet to think about, you know. I don't intend to waste my youth as some Admiral's plaything, just to be thrown aside when I'm thirty."

"The man who would throw you aside, Beverly, is a fool." Picard swirled the remainder of his wine around in his glass, and then downed it in one swallow.

"And I don't intend to bear a brood of children for some colonial governor either. What I wanted—what Jack offered me—is a partnership." She gazed steadily at Picard, chin raised, as if defying him to improve on the arrangement that she and her husband had made. Her red hair shone in the firelight.

"Your loyalty is admirable. Jack would be proud. However, it's in your interest, not to mention his, to be open-minded. What if a well-timed liaison on your part were, say, just what was needed to assure Jack's position?"

Her head jerked up—and she laughed scornfully. "Jack wouldn't dare to ask me to prostitute myself on his behalf. He wouldn't keep me for long. I have more self-respect than that."

"Indeed. And as you've mentioned, you're ambitious on your own account, as well as your husband's."

"What can I say?" she asked quietly, one corner of her mouth quirking up in a half-smile. "I'm not going to apologise for it."

"No one is asking you to," he said, leaning forward. "As you may have noticed, Jack isn't making this proposition. I am. The choice is yours; nothing to do with him. Besides which, there is the possibility that you might enjoy the change."

"You're old enough to be my father," she said, her eyes warm with amusement.

"I am," he acknowledged. "And thus, I have the power to give you what Jack can't. What you want."

"And what do I want, exactly?"

"Quite a bit, I would guess. But why don't we begin with protection? As you've observed, Jack is on his way up... fast. But he's playing a risky game, and success like that makes enemies. Needless to say I'm doing everything that I can for him. If you asked, I might be able to do a bit more. But if something were to happen to him—it would be wise for you to have another ally. A man who fails is no longer able to protect his wife..."

Beverly said nothing, just looked at him. Fascinated by the idea that he had put forward? Perhaps. Or was it just that she was too young, too naive, to consider the possibility of failure?

Then, as Picard watched, her gaze wandered from his face, and despite herself she glanced up at the door. There, silhouetted in the light from the hallway, stood three-year-old Wesley, in his pajamas, watching uncertainly as his mother spoke with this strange man.

"Wesley, get out!" snapped Beverly. "Now!"

And the boy turned and ran.

"...or his son," continued Picard with a sense of triumph. "If something were to happen to Jack, Wesley would be vulnerable. An alpha male doesn't take kindly to having his rival's child in the litter. You know that. The biological imperative is very strong, after all, and these situations can be very delicate. What I'm offering you, Beverly, is... insurance. Which I sincerely hope you will never need."

Beverly swallowed. "What do you want from me?" she asked, as if the words stuck in her throat.

"Let's start with what you want."

"Your protection for Wesley. And promotion for Jack."

"And for you, of course."

She said nothing. _All for Jack,_ thought Picard bitterly. _Always for Jack._

"You have it," he said, simply. As for the rest, he held his tongue.

"And in return...?"

"I want you, Beverly. You alone. I have no desire to be tied down or to make my private affairs public. Thus I'm more than happy to leave you in domestic bliss"—he emphasised the two words, making it clear exactly what he thought of the concept—"with your husband, on the condition that you make yourself available to me."

"I might consider that," she said, making an effort to keep her voice steady. "For Jack's sake."

"He'll be touched by your generosity, I'm sure."

She leant towards him. "He isn't going to know."

"Isn't he?"

"No." Her voice was throaty and low.

He reached out and took her chin in the palm of his hand, studying her for a moment.

"Very well then. As you wish, Mrs. Crusher."

***

Picard lay back, his hands behind his head, utterly satisfied. Through the window he could see Starfleet Headquarters across the bay, and through the window shone the bright sun, across him and across Beverly, who lay in bed beside him. She was sprawled carelessly, catching her breath, her dark-copper curls across her face. Her youthful body was magnificent, an athletic litheness tempered with very definite curves. It had been over a year, and Picard had not yet grown tired of her. He could not see that he would—and this troubled him somehow.

As soon as she felt his gaze upon her, Beverly opened her eyes and rolled over. She propped her chin on her hands and looked at him quizzically, her blue-grey eyes bright in the light.

"Yes?" he prompted.

"I was wondering..." she began carefully, "about Jack…"

He laughed, struck by her audacity. "What about Jack? You can't expect me to believe that you spent the last hour thinking only of your husband? Because I would find that very unlikely."

"Would you?" Her tone was light, but the gathering anxiety in her voice was evident. Running his hand lazily along the curve of her back, he could feel her body stiffening under his touch.

"Jean-Luc," she added, "we did have a deal, you know. I'm not here just for the amusement..."

"Nonetheless, you do seem to be availing yourself of it. You hardly seemed to be complaining when you were...."

"That's not the point," she said quickly.

"Isn't it?"

"Don't toy with me. You know what I'm talking about. Jack's promotion."

"Beverly," he said, shaking his head, "I do believe you think I'm a god. It may come as a surprise to you, but I'm not all-powerful. As much as I would love to be able to grant you favours at a whim, I do have to play by the rules of Starfleet politics...."

He reached out to touch her cheek but she slapped his hand away.

"You can't pull this on me now, Jean-Luc," she said, the pitch of her voice rising. "You can't think I'm that gullible. I don't—"

"Calm down, Beverly!" His tone was imperative but Beverly was past caring.

"You patronizing bastard!"

Picard grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. This had gone too far.

"Be quiet and listen to me. I said that it was difficult. I didn't say that it was impossible. As it happens, my Number One on the _Stargazer_ is falling out of favour with the admiralty. If I made an effort—if I called in some favours—I might be able to get Jack the position. Promotion to Commander included."

"Oh," she said, simply, giving him that contrite look of hers, the pleasure of which made enduring her temper so worthwhile. Beverly, despite being an impetuous young woman, had shown more restraint than he had expected in waiting to ask for this favour. It was not something that he had intended to withhold, in the end.

" 'Oh' indeed..." he mimicked."But it would not be easy. I would have to be convinced that it was worth the effort. Would you be grateful?"

"Of course," she said distantly, her mind still far away as she took in what he had said.

Rolling over, he took her into his arms, covering her slim body with his own. "I said, would you be grateful? Is your faith in me restored?"

"Yes, Jean-Luc, yes, it is." As she gazed up at him, the awe in her eyes was tinged with fear.

"And what will you offer me in return?"

"Whatever you want," whispered Beverly, in sweet submission.

***

"Beverly!" His shout, loud in their small apartment, easily reached her in the kitchen.

"I'm in here, Jack!" she shouted back, irritably. "Wesley's having his supper…"

Despite being nearly five, Wesley, naturally timid, still refused to use the replicator by himself, and would only eat if someone was actually sitting with him. Could Jack ever be bothered to take the time to do this? Of course not. So there she was, leaning against the counter, watching Wes as he sat kicking the legs of his chair and dawdling over his cereal.

Jack appeared in the doorway, unbuckling his uniform jacket and grinning from ear to ear. "Guess what I heard today, Bev?"

"Dad, I got—"

"Wes, be quiet," said Beverly dismissively. "Finish your cornflakes... What is it, Jack?"

"You're looking at the new executive officer of the Stargazer," he continued expansively. "Commander at twenty-nine—not bad, is it? Jean-Luc really came through for me this time."

"Oh, Jack," said Beverly, with what she hoped was a convincing tone of surprise, "that's wonderful news!"

His jubilation seemed faintly ridiculous to her, as if he were a child crowing over some success that its parents had secured. She felt a sudden, utterly insane desire to tell him that she knew why he had been promoted, and that it was nothing to do with his own merit. She was the one who had done this for him. Her merit, her... sacrifice, if it could be called that. But of course, there was nothing that she could say.

Instead, she let herself be pulled into his embrace. _I did it for Jack,_ she repeated to herself. _This is why I did it. This._

"I'll tell you," he was saying, "I really owe Jean-Luc now. All the things he's done for me have been amazing, but this—Bev, the man made me his Number One, just like that! With an ally like that, who knows where I'll end up... At the rate I'm going, I'll make captain by thirty-five."

"And I'll be the captain's woman," she said, looking up into his blue eyes.

"Just as planned, what did I tell you? It's a shame you're still a Lieutenant, but I'm sure he'll look out for you too. I could mention it to him..."

"Don't bother, Jack. I'm sure that I'll be promoted eventually. I'd rather get it on my own account, if it's all the same to you."

"What's wrong, Bev?" he asked, pulling away to hold her at arm's length. "You don't much like Jean-Luc, do you? And after all he's done for me." And his face broke into a broad teasing grin. "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were jealous!"

"Of Jean-Luc?" she asked lightly. "Why on earth would I be?"

It was Wesley who saved her from further questioning on this delicate topic. He sat, cereal still unfinished, looking worriedly at his parents, eyes dark in his pale face.

"Dad, does this mean you're going on another mission? Are you going away again? Will it be dangerous?"

One would hardly know to look at him that he was Jack's son—so thin, so delicate, so perpetually anxious. Not, perhaps, the child who they had hoped would follow his parents into Starfleet.

"I can take care of myself, Wes," Jack replied. "Don't worry. And I won't be leaving right away.

"That's the beauty of it," he added, gazing into Beverly's eyes. "The Stargazer isn't shipping out for another five or six months. Jean-Luc is off on some sort of cloak-and-dagger mission until then. In the mean time, I'll be home on leave." Again, he drew her into his arms, burying his face in her auburn hair. "We'll have some time to be together. We haven't had very much of that, have we?"

"Oh Jack, yes, yes we will," responded Beverly, closing her eyes and pressing herself close to him, as if his touch could somehow take Jean-Luc out of her mind. As if she could forget the dangerous bargain that she had made. With Jack promoted, home for five months, and Jean-Luc far away—maybe she could. Things could be different. _Now that we have this, maybe I'll end it. I could—if I wanted to. _

And yet there lurked, at the back of her mind, the suspicion that perhaps she didn't want to. As Jack kissed her, and she felt her body responding to his touch, she also felt, in phantom memory, Jean-Luc's strong, insistent hands on her. _I know that what I'm doing is dangerous,_ she told herself… _but I'm in complete control. I know that I'm betraying Jack... but it's not as if I'm in love with Jean-Luc. It's just physical, it's just sex. It would be ridiculous to abandon all those advantages—and for what? Some old-fashioned morality, which I've never believed in anyway... All I have to do is keep my head, and I can have both._

She felt giddy at the idea, holding the two men in her mind at once. Jean-Luc, spare, intense, controlled, powerful. Jack, young, energetic, ambitious—and by far the more conventionally handsome of the two, she reflected, looking up into her husband's face. _Jean-Luc would be so jealous if he saw us now_—the thought brought a rush of pleasure, the thought of the influence that she had over this distant man, and the illicit, entirely backwards thrill of making love to her own husband. And if Jack only knew—that brought more of a pang, a heartsick feeling that he had not even thought to suspect his betrayal, that he trusted her still. But both of them, both of them, in the palm of her hand. Beverly felt the universe spread out before her.

And with that triumphant thought, in Jack's arms, she let herself be swept away, swept far past scruples, guilt, or regret.

***

In the five months that Picard had been gone he had thought about her hardly at all; the pressures of a high-stakes mission left little time for the luxury of reflecting on a woman left behind at home. Since returning to Earth, he had likewise been too busy with debriefings and internal politics to spare her much thought, except to wonder idly whether it might be time to call an end to their liaison... before things became too involved. He did intend to see her before he and Jack shipped out on the _Stargazer_, of course, if only to tell her that it was over. But somehow he felt no great desire to rush into that minefield.

When he saw her again, it was purely by accident. He had spent the day buried in the bowels of the Fleet Intelligence headquarters, sitting at a viewscreen in a claustrophobic windowless room, breathing the stale recirculated air. Reading classified reports might have a romantic aura in theory, but in practice it was just deadly dull.

Emerging from the building into the warmth of a sunny autumn afternoon was like a rebirth. Coming down the shallow stone steps two at a time, he breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the balmy air. All too soon, he would be shipboard again, trapped in a prison of his own making. _I really should look up Jenice before I go,_ he thought idly. _Or Philippa._

It was then that he saw her. She was in the park across the street, framed by the boughs of the trees, leading her son by the hand. Obviously on a shopping trip in San Francisco, or perhaps picking Wesley up from school. She was dressed casually, in a loose boat-necked top, striped in navy blue and white, and a calf-length skirt. For once, she was even wearing sensible shoes. Her flowing hair echoed the red of the leaves, contrasting with her dark-haired son; her complexion, usually wintry pale, was rosy in the autumn light, as if she were blooming. A domestic idyll was not exactly to Picard's taste... but, with an odd skip of his heart, he realised that he found her just as attractive as he ever had, even with her son in tow.

Their paths crossed by the gate to the park. Beverly had not noticed him, too distracted by Wesley's incessant chatter to be alert to the world around her. It was only when Picard approached that she looked up.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, putting on a smile over her first look of surprise. "Jean-Luc, Jack hadn't told me that you were back already. How good to see you!" She reached out to take his hand, her natural warmth, whether real or feigned, masking the fact that it was just a meaningless social greeting. Picard refused her proffered hand.

"Beverly," he said, coldly. "You're pregnant."

For a moment, as he approached, he had thought that she had merely put on weight, letting herself go in the safety of an Earth posting and of Jack's—apparently exclusive—love for her. But no. Beverly, the dancer, was too scrupulous about her appearance, and too conscious of the effect that it had on men, to allow herself to lose such an advantage. She was hiding it well, but it was unquestionably true.

"Yes, I am..." she said hesitantly, taking an unconscious half-step backwards as she felt the weight of his scrutiny.

"How very... domestic of you. I wonder why Jack failed to mention it?" Picard, involved in briefings and mission readiness reports, had seen his new executive officer at headquarters many times, but Jack had not said more than a few words about his family.

"Oh, you know how Jack is. He's been so preoccupied with the _Stargazer_ recently, this isn't really the sort of thing that he..." Beverly shrugged, and laughed nervously. "I suppose he was worried you might think that he was insufficiently committed to the mission, having another child..."

_And well he might,_ thought Picard darkly, _well he might._

"And when are you due?"

"This spring," she said tersely, giving an answer that she clearly felt to be obvious. "March."

"Dad says the baby might be born on his birthday," Wesley spoke up proudly. "I'm going to have a little brother, and he says we'll all be able to play baseball together."

Beverly jerked sharply at Wesley's arm. "Jack's making the best of it," she said, her complexion suddenly paling. "Needless to say, he doesn't have any more time to play baseball than I do. Wesley's more than enough trouble as it is."

But her protestations were of no use. Beverly would not have fallen pregnant by accident, and Jack was obviously thrilled. Why should he not be?

Damn the woman! She, whom he had possessed absolutely, and under Jack's very nose—her biology had betrayed him, and proved that she belonged to her husband after all. If his calculations were correct, she had conceived just a month after his departure from Earth. Jack's genes—Jack's child—without doubt. For whatever unfathomable reason, she had been willing to take on the many vulnerabilities of pregnancy, to give her body over, in order to bear a son, another son, for Jack Crusher.

It was not as if Picard regretted his failure to carry on his own line. Children were such an uncertain way to achieve immortality, compared with one's own endeavours. Wesley Crusher proved, if anything did, that they didn't necessarily take after their parents. But Jack and Beverly already had Wesley now. What did they want with another one? It was such an atavistic impulse, breeding, the cementing of a marital bond, and as such, it made Picard uneasy. Damn her! And damn both of them! As far as he was concerned, Jack Crusher could just... go to hell.

"Come to dinner with me," he said, making his decision. "There are some things that we need to discuss."

"What, now?" replied Beverly incredulously.

"Why not now? I haven't got the time to travel all the way to Oregon to take you to some replimat." Why Jack had chosen to live in such an out-of-the-way place, he had no idea, but at that moment he could believe that it had been done purely to spite him.

"Because I have to get home now. And," she added, casting a significant glance downwards, "because little pitchers have big ears."

"What? Oh." Wesley had not, like any normal child, run off to play, but was standing right there at his mother's skirts, looking up intently. "Can't you leave the brat somewhere?"

"No, Jean-Luc, I can't just 'leave the brat somewhere'." Her habitual pose of hands on hips had the unfortunate effect of emphasizing the disappearance of her once-defined waistline. "I'm not going to drop everything just to go out to dinner with you! You'll just have to accept the fact that you're not the most important person in the universe for once." She paused for breath, looking faintly amazed at her own audacity.

"So it's like that, is it? I see."

"There's no 'like that,' Jean-Luc," she said in more placatory tones, taking hold of herself. "I'm just busy. Look... why don't you come to dinner with Jack and me sometime, before you leave? We can talk then..."

***

"In the dark womb where I began  
My mother's life made me a man...  
I cannot see, nor breathe, nor stir  
But through the death of some of her."  
\--John Masefield

It was not in any way what he had had in mind. But despite his pique, Picard accepted the Crushers' invitation to dinner the following week, surrendering to a curious desire to see them in their natural habitat, to see Beverly... Well, to see Beverly. Just so. Jack and his wife would bicker through dinner, as they always did; Picard would play the role of detached observer, and glad to be so; perhaps he would make a move towards renewing their liaison, perhaps not; either way, harmony would be restored.

They met him at the door, looking, as they always did, the perfect young couple. Jack was as handsome as ever, in a fashionably-cut silk shirt that set off his strikingly blue eyes, and with his arm closely around his wife's waist. Beverly was also formally dressed, her auburn hair pulled up into a twist that left her long neck elegantly bare. Her burgundy velvet dress was not particularly revealing, with long sleeves and a modest neckline, but its cut hugged her body in a way that revealed her newly rounded form.

"Good to see you, Jean-Luc," said Jack warmly, reaching to shake his hand. "Not that I won't be seeing plenty of you once we ship out, but Bev and I thought we should have you to dinner first. Nothing too good for my new commanding officer. And I knew that you'd want to come and admire her..."

He grinned, and pulled Beverly still closer, bending down to nuzzle at her neck. Five months had not changed Jack at all. Still arrogant, still insufferably pleased with himself and his lot in life. What had led Picard to take the man up, he was not sure. But if Jack was expecting any future favours, he was very much mistaken.

All he said, with the utmost mildness, was: "Yes, I understand that congratulations are in order?"

"The next addition to the Crusher dynasty is due in March," said Jack, his hand resting proprietorially on the curve of his wife's belly. "I'll be away when he's born, of course, but that's the way things are."

"After all," Beverly put in dryly, "he wasn't here when Wesley was born either. Do come in, Jean-Luc, don't just stand there in the hallway."

Both men drank more wine that evening than was good for them. Beverly, whose condition required her to be more restrained, sat sipping circumspectly at a single glass of the red. She looked distinctly put out at the drift of the conversation, which ran to military secrets for which her medical security clearance was hopelessly insufficient. Picard had, of course, once shared such things with her in intimate moments—a small privilege of their relationship—but five months had now passed, and she was hopelessly out of the loop.

"...and then there's the _Tiberius_," Picard was saying significantly.

"Yes, there is," Jack agreed, taking another bite of steak, "and I'd give a lot to find out what's going on there. Jellico has got to have something up his sleeve... Don't you think, Bev?"

"I might care more if I weren't working twelve-hour days on the Sergyaran worm plague at the moment," replied Beverly, somewhat petulantly. "It's not as if I'm likely to see off-planet service in the next fifteen years anyway, by which time all of this will be old news."

"I wouldn't be so certain of that," said Picard, his eyes meeting hers.

"Which, the _Tiberius_, or my service record?" She leaned forward, smiling an ironic smile.

"Your service record. Starfleet needs quite a few geneticists and bacteriologists in the field at the moment, more than it needs general practitioners. You're good at what you do. I wouldn't discount your chances so lightly."

"I would," she answered curtly, straightening up.

"Would you?"

"Look at me, Jean-Luc," she said in disbelief, gesturing vaguely towards herself. "I have a five-year-old son, and another on the way. What captain is going to give me a posting on his ship? Women deserve equality, yes—but on your terms—and I've sacrificed my chance at that already. Don't try to tell me otherwise."

There was a silence. Jack shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"So women seek to gain power in a different way..." suggested Picard. "Through influence."

"To influence," said Beverly wryly, mock-toasting the two men.

"Beverly certainly knows how to wrap men around her little finger," said Jack, running his hand up his wife's thigh. "She'll be a captain's woman yet." Beverly flushed, and her breath caught, but whether it was from pleasure or from the delicate position in which she had been put, Picard was not sure.

"But where would any of us be without influence?" he asked rhetorically. "Take Jack, for instance. A fine man, but he would be nowhere today if it weren't for the help of highly-placed friends. Isn't that so, Jack?"

"I wouldn't put it that way," said Jack, his pride stung. "You gave me that promotion on my own merit. If you're telling people something different, I'd like to hear it."

"Not at all," said Picard equably. "It would be optimistic of me to expect your gratitude."

"Don't worry, Jack," put in Beverly cattily, "it's not as if anyone's going to accuse you of sleeping your way to the top."

Jack snorted. "Beverly, would you please be serious for once?"

"Oh, but I am serious." She giggled. "After all, I married you, didn't I?"

For a moment a dangerous tone had entered her voice, but the moment had passed. Picard let out a breath. Beverly was not drunk, but Jack was close, and Beverly was capable of causing more than enough trouble while sober. Indiscreet was perhaps not the right way to put it. Intentionally provocative might be closer. And despite the pleasure of toying with Jack, this was hardly the time or the place to let anything slip. Not with Jack as his new executive officer...

"If Starfleet were to offer you a shipboard posting," asked Picard, "would you take it?"

She sighed, shaking her head ruefully. "It isn't that simple, Jean-Luc. There are other considerations. Wesley, for instance..."

"Considerations worth sacrificing your career for?"

"He's important to us," said Jack. "He's our son."

"Worth sacrificing your career for?" echoed Beverly bitterly. "Your career? My career."

"Couldn't you leave Wesley with your grandmother?" asked Picard innocently.

"You see, Jack? It is possible. Even Jean-Luc agrees with me..."

Jack threw his napkin down on the table. "Damn it, Beverly, you don't need to leave Earth to do genetics research. We've been over this all before. Why tonight? And when I'm shipping out tomorrow..."

"Maybe I'm tired of being left behind," she said, her voice rising. "Haven't you ever considered that?"

"I'm a member of Starfleet, Bev, just like you. I get a posting, I go. Whether or not you get left at home has nothing to do with me."

"Except for the fact that you've fathered two children on her," Picard observed dryly. It was, perhaps, a mistake. The Crushers had begun an old argument—as Picard well knew—that would have lasted long after he went home at the end of dinner. They did not need much encouragement. Now, however, Jack's anger had been redirected.

"What's it to you, Picard?" he asked. "If I want your advice on how to run my family, I'll ask for it. Not that you would know a thing about it..."

"Jack, don't," said Beverly, placing a restraining hand on his forearm. But he shook her off.

"I may be eighteen years younger than you," he continued, "and I may be only a commander—and I may even owe it all to you—but I have some things you don't. Like a family of my own. I wouldn't wait around for the perfect woman, if I were you. She's already taken."

"If I were you, I would take care that I could keep her." Picard's words came like a whipstroke, almost before he had thought.

"Oh, I do," said Jack, his voice gone cold.

***

"What is a woman that you forsake her,  
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,  
To go with the old grey widow-maker?"  
\--Rudyard Kipling

 

It was a parting fit for the cameras. Every aspect of the departure of an Imperial starship was recorded for the consumption of the masses back on Earth,in order to inspire—or so the theory went—their loyalty to the Imperium. Picard has his doubts, but as the admiralty disagreed with him, he kept them to himself.

He, as commanding officer, stood at the focus of the commissioning ceremony, solemnly shaking hands with the vice-regents, taking on the formal chain of office, intoning the words that signified his intention to faithfully serve the _Stargazer_, his crew, and the Emperor. Rote, bland words that signified nothing in the end other than that the _Stargazer_ was his for another five-year mission, and that he would take such actions in her command as he deemed best. Which, of course, he would do anyway.

Picard knew, as he clasped the commissioning admiral's hand, and executed the requisite three bows—one to the absent Emperor and one to each vice-regent—that very little of the long ceremony would ever be televised on Earth. And, as he knelt uncomfortably, Jack at his side, to receive the chain of office, he felt himself grateful for that. The position reminded him a little too vividly of one which Beverly—and other women, he reminded himself, other women too—had taken up before him many times in the past. And that perhaps was exactly the point, emphasising his utter submission to the will of the Emperor.

Beverly. Getting stiffly to his feet, and straightening the heavy chain on his shoulders, he scanned the audience for her. And indeed, there she was, beyond the seas of gold braid, red silk, and ermine trim that surrounded him, sitting with Wesley near the middle of the theatre. Amidst the blaze of pageantry, she looked for once very unremarkable by comparison, in her ordinary duty uniform. Her vividness was only an afterimage in his mind—_the splash of her fiery red hair as she leant forward…_ Picard swallowed, squinted into the glare of the lights as he tried to make her out more clearly. Wesley was on the edge of his seat, turning to his mother with excitement, one of the few who was viewing the pomp of the ceremony with rapt attention. And Beverly—she was looking in the direction of the stage, yes, but Picard could not tell exactly where her eyes were focussed...

"Can you make her out?" asked Jack in an undertone, leaning unobtrusively towards Picard, his voice pitched under the mumble of Latin as the ceremony dragged on. "I can't find Bev..."

"Right there," replied Picard curtly, gesturing with his eyes.

"Oh. Thanks."

And even at that distance Picard could see Beverly's face brightening as her eyes met Jack's across the theatre. She put her hand on Wesley's shoulder, pointed in Jack's direction... and blew him a kiss. Flirtatious as always; Picard could practically feel Jack's chest swell out with pride. If it was hypocrisy on her part, then it was a truly breathtaking display. Whatever reconciliation she and Jack had effected after his departure from dinner had been, apparently, complete. It should not have surprised him; their relationship had always been just as mercurial as Beverly's temper. She obviously worshipped the ground that Jack walked on, God alone knew why. Thus it had always been. She, being a shallow young woman, had chosen the handsome blue-eyed boy. And it was clear that only a miracle would sever them.

After the formal ceremony came the mob scene, as hundreds of crewmembers said a final goodbye to their families before their embarkation on the Stargazer. As always, Picard stood to one side, keeping his distance from the emotionality and sentimentality of such events. He had no family to bid farewell to, in any case. Or indeed any lover present other than Beverly. She had found him in the crowd as he came down from the stage and said a few hurried words to him, grasping his arm and smiling in that way that she had, even as Wesley tugged on her other hand. But Picard had pulled away from her, and pointed her in the direction of Jack, talking of having other people to greet.

There were Jack and Beverly now. It was this part of the _Stargazer_'s departure, with all its romance and human interest, which would receive all the attention on Earth. And the eye of every camera would surely be fixed on the _Stargazer_'s second-in-command. Jack stood tall and proud in his immaculate dress uniform, embracing his beautiful young wife, who wore—pointedly, no doubt—her own Starfleet uniform, and who clung to him and cried as if her heart would break. Their small son stood with his arms wrapped around his father's legs, ignored for the moment by both his parents, who were locked in a passionate kiss, oblivious to the world around them. A more affecting scene could hardly have been staged had it been for a recruiting film. Have the glory, and have the girl. _Get to your knees, Beverly,_ thought Picard viciously. _You know you want to._

***

The weather outside was beautiful—bright sun, and the ground covered with snow. But Beverly was inside on the comm, one elbow propped on the table, trying to keep her mind from wandering. Speaking to Jack via subspace was a rare treat; she knew that she should be savouring every minute of it. But it was not the same as having him there in the flesh, when they would not have to do anything so prosaic as talking. I'd get that uniform off him, and then... But she was six months pregnant—she wondered whether Jack would even be interested...

"..and then," he was saying, "after we've finished the relief runs, we're off to Quetta V. There's a colony there with pretensions to independence—we may have to eliminate them entirely, not exactly pleasant work... Bev, are you even listening?"

"Hm? Yes, of course I am." She forced herself to sit up straight, and cast back in her mind, blessing the good memory that had got her through medical school when she had been preoccupied with other things, including Jack. "You were talking about Quetta..."

Apparently convinced by this proof, Jack went back to his tale. And Beverly, resisting the urge to ask him whether he cared at all how her week had been, gritted her teeth. Jack was the one in deep space, he did have a right to assume that she would want to hear about it...

_Ask about me!_ she wanted to exclaim. _I'm your wife, I'm pregnant, I'm working on a genetic warfare agent that could devastate half the Orion congeries if only Starfleet had the courage to use it._ She sighed. There was something about the life of a researcher that, be the research itself ever so dramatic, did not lend itself to easy dramatisation. Or if you don't want to hear about that, you could at least mention something about Jean-Luc. He was there on the _Stargazer_ of course, doing the same things that Jack was—but her interest was more personal. _Does he think about me once in a while—am I worth remembering—or has he given me up entirely? He's probably taken up with some woman on board. Why should he not? What's stopping him? And she's the captain's woman, and I'm nothing. If I ever was anything._ It was conceivable that she could ask Jack about the shipboard gossip without arousing suspicion, ask him if Jean-Luc—but no. That would be silly, too much of a risk; besides which, there was no point knowing, since she would be powerless to do anything about it.

_Both of them gone at once,_ she thought reproachfully. _Only you, Beverly, could be so stupid as to have an affair with a man serving on the same starship as your husband._

"...and I beat Jean-Luc at squash yesterday," Jack was saying.

That was something at least.

"That's nice," said Beverly absentmindedly. "I'm sure he wasn't happy about it."

"Not at all. Wiped the floor with him too."

"It's not exactly surprising, Jack. After all, you are nearly twenty years younger than him."

"Well, he shouldn't ask me to play him, then."

Typical Jack Crusher logic. Beverly just shrugged. "Do you want to talk to Wes before you go? He's been asking about you all week."

"Might as well."

Wesley came running as soon as she called; knowing him, he had probably been waiting just outside the whole time. He climbed onto the chair eagerly, kneeling so that he could reach the screen.

"While you talk to your father," she said, "I'll just go and..."

"No, mom." Wesley grabbed her hand and gave her an imploring look. "Stay. Stay and talk to dad."

And rather than getting into a scene with Wesley in front of his father, she sighed, and pulled over another chair. Jack would only tell her that she spoiled him, as he always did.

"Dad, I got two As in school yesterday..." And they were off again. _Like father, like son,_ thought Beverly, and wrote off the rest of the morning.

It was half an hour later when Wesley was finally persuaded to stand down. "I miss you, dad," he said reluctantly, but this was only a minor concession to sentiment, given that he had already exhausted the time allotted for the discussion of the _Stargazer_'s warp engines. "Oh! One more thing. I used the replicator by myself this morning, and I had eggs. I like eggs," he continued thoughtfully, "but Captain Picard doesn't. He has croissants for breakfast, like mom."

_No,_ thought Beverly, _no, no, I didn't just hear him say that._ But the expression on Jack's face made it clear that she had heard it, and furthermore that the remark had made some kind of impact.

"That's true..." said Jack "I guess you take after me..."

_And not Captain Picard,_ Beverly's mind automatically finished the sentence. But no—that couldn't have been what he meant. _You're paranoid, Bev. _

"Well Jack, I guess we'd better let you go now," she said, knowing as she did so that her voice sounded all wrong, too high, too rapid... too guilty. "But I'll talk to you—I'll talk to you later."

"Yes," said Jack darkly. "Later."

***

Jack was already there briefing his away team when Picard entered the transporter room. He slipped in and stood at the edge of the room, listening, screened from Jack's view by the group gathered around him.

"...the subspace charges that we detonated in the atmosphere should have eliminated them completely," Jack was saying. "It was a small colony. However, we have reason to believe that some of the colonists may have taken shelter in the caves to the south of the city—in which case there could be survivors. Be on your guard."

"These may have been imperial colonists once," added Lieutenant Cohen, the ship's security officer, "but they're rebels now. There's no reason to give them quarter. Set phasers to kill."

"As Sufiyyah says." Jack nodded in her direction. "Now, I'll be taking a team to reconnoitre the caves, and the rest of you will go with Lieutenant Cohen to secure the city. We'll be using..."

Two ambitious young officers, reflected Picard, executing their duties with perfect efficiency. That was, of course, why they were so dangerous. People who could succeed without you might well take it into their heads to try to do so. Cohen was certainly on her way up, and as for Jack—well, Jack was within striking distance of the top. It was just a question of how he would choose to get there. A first officer and security officer working in league could prove to be a serious threat.

Picard cleared his throat—and heads turned. Jack pulled himself to attention; Cohen's eyes widened.

"I'll be leading the away team, Commander Crusher."

A look of resentment burned in Jack's clear eyes, but he recovered himself quickly. "Not a good idea, Captain."

"'Not a good idea,' Jack?"

"The city hasn't been secured yet, sir," put in Cohen. "The risk would be considerable."

"And as your first officer, it's my job to keep you safe. There's no reason for you to beam down, Jean-Luc." He gave Picard an insolent smile. "Sufi and I will handle things, don't worry."

"No doubt you will," said Picard. "However, Commander, I remind you that I am the authority on this ship, not you, and that I have chosen to accompany the away team. That is my prerogative. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly, Captain," said Jack sulkily. "Your word, of course, is law."

Picard felt the urge to continue Jack's public dressing-down. Not that it would have any effect in terms of discipline—in fact, it would probably be counterproductive. But a touch of public humiliation was the least that Jack deserved, the arrogant little shit. He was clearly hoping to cover himself in glory this mission, showing Starfleet that he, and not his captain, had played the key role in pacifying Quetta. As if Picard had not put him where he was. Well, no matter. Jack was not the only one who knew how to pacify a rebellion.

_Put him in a bag, and sit on him…_

Picard smiled to himself and stepped onto the transporter platform beside his first officer.

***

"But wilt thou cure thy heart  
Of love and all its smart  
Then die, dear, die."  
\--Thomas Lovell Beddoes

 

Quetta was desolate—the vegetation a stunted grey-green, and the sky pink from all the dust that had been kicked up into the atmosphere. The planet had only been incompletely terraformed, and the subspace charges that the Stargazer had used against Quetta City would likely set the process back another ten years. Still, the new colonists that would eventually be planted here would have no option but to move forward, just a small part of the inexorable progress of the imperium.

On the horizon Picard could see the outlines of the city, pressure domes and spires, now fallen silent. Much closer stood the cliffs of the escarpment, looming ominously, bronze red in the wan light. The heavy metals in their rocks could have shielded some colonists from the subspace pulse, had they scrambled to take shelter when the Stargazer had entered orbit. A sloppy operation... Picard would have moved more quickly, not giving the colonists one last chance to surrender, if his orders had allowed it. But even sloppiness might have its uses.

"Martinez," said Picard, "you and Routray head east. Commander Crusher and I will sweep the cliff face to the west."

The two men nodded and moved off; Jack gazed after them doubtfully.

"Coming, Jack?" Picard beckoned him along sharply, an imperious jerk of the hand that brooked no argument.

"Not the assignment that I would have made," muttered Jack, reluctantly falling into step with his commanding officer. "The captain and the first officer together? Not good practice. You'd better hope that nobody puts it in their mission report."

"Why would anyone do that? Martinez and Routray wouldn't dare, I would have no reason, and as for you, well—I had assumed that you would welcome the chance to have a private talk. We haven't seen too much of each other recently, have we?"

Silence; nothing but the crunch of the two men's boots as they walked along the base of the cliff. It fell to Picard finally to break the silence.

"Tell me, Jack—what's wrong?"

Jack stopped and stared at Picard, his chin raised, a curious echo of his wife's habitual stance. "Nothing wrong, captain. Not a thing."

"You'll forgive me if I find that hard to believe," replied Picard coldly. "You, Commander, have been perilously close to insubordination all week. You and your little friend Cohen. Now, I'll ask you again: what is wrong?"

Half casually, ever so smoothly, Picard unholstered his phaser and leveled it at his friend. Jack didn't flinch, just stood squarely, hands behind his back, making—as yet—no attempt to defend himself. He was a courageous man. It was a shame.

"You tell me," he said. "I think you have a pretty good idea, or you wouldn't have come down here with me. Or got me alone."

It was not as Picard had expected. He had anticipated—not without a certain sense of relish—the angry confrontation, the shouted accusations, the conclusion to their abortive dinner back on Earth. Instead, there was this, Jack's betrayed, resentful silence.

"It could have been simply that you were growing restive," Picard began, "ready to challenge me for my position. That would be the obvious answer. You're an ambitious man, and not particularly patient. But I don't believe that it's that simple. This is a personal grudge, Jack. And you haven't done a particularly good job of hiding it."

"How well would you expect me to hide it?" replied Jack angrily. "You didn't do a very good job of it. You're sleeping with my wife."

"And does that surprise you?" Picard thought he detected a tremor in Jack's jaw at that—had he really discovered it only so recently?—but it could have been just a trick of the light, the dust clouds that were trailing across the sun. "After all," he added casually, "it's the commander's privilege."

"Not with my wife. You bastard."

"Not with Beverly? Is there something unique about the woman? Different from the common breed? I'm sure she's not the only one to take her pleasures elsewhere..."

"I wouldn't use your usual whores as the yardstick, Jean-Luc."

"What about Sufi Cohen? Eh, Jack? Or is that something else entirely? One law for the goose..."

"You know that's a lie."

"Ah, but would Beverly think so?"

"You can tell her whatever the hell you like. I don't think it'll make a blind bit of difference. You do what you want anyway—the rest of the world doesn't matter. You want to screw your best friend's wife, you just go ahead and do it. Well, screw you, Jean-Luc Picard. I'm not going to bow to you anymore."

Picard repressed his rage, forced himself to take a breath. "Who has done more for you than I, Jack? I treated you like a son. Preferment, promotion, all that I could offer you. You owe everything to me, Jack! The least you could do is to share your treasure with me."

"That wasn't the deal."

"Ask Beverly. I think you'll find that it was." Picard watched with pleasure the flicker in Jack's eyes, the realisation of the sand upon which his career had been built. "And you thought that you could keep her from me..."

"I did, and do you know why? Beverly isn't some cheap whore. You can't treat her like you treat your usual conquests. She loves me, Jean-Luc. Whatever twisted arrangement you have with her, you don't have that. And you never will."

_Even if you win her after I'm gone…_ The suggestion drifted between them like a breath, blown on the wind. Picard felt himself suddenly at the end of the road. Jack would not accept any way out of the impasse in which they found themselves, not if it was offered at Picard's hand. There was nothing more that he could do.

"Aren't you going to defend yourself?" he asked impatiently, lightly fingering the pad of his phaser.

"So you're going to kill me, just like that? You always were a coward." Jack held his hands out at his sides. "This isn't a fair fight, Jean-Luc. It never has been."

"There's no justice in life, Jack."

"There's no loyalty, that's for sure."

And Picard fired, not at Jack, but at the cliff face above him. There was a sharp crack, and then a roar, as the friable rock came loose in a landslide. The whirl of sand and stones enveloped Picard, and for a moment he thought that he too was about to die—a fitting end, buried under a tomb of rock, on a barren planet, beside his once best friend.

The aftermath he could remember only in brief flashes. The laborious process as they dug Jack's broken body out of the rubble. The blood. The dust that covered both of them. And the thought of Beverly.

***

"From perfect grief there need not be  
Wisdom, or even memory..."  
\--D.G. Rossetti

"Thank you for coming with me," she said, almost in a whisper, through her haze of tears.

"A commander's duty," he replied brusquely. "I could hardly do otherwise."

The halls of Starfleet Medical seemed deserted, endless, a place for ghosts rather than living people. Without the aid of computer maps, Picard would have been lost long ago. But Beverly knew her way, even if her steps were like those of a sleepwalker.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Beverly?" he asked again. "You shouldn't have to remember him like this."

"I've seen bodies before," she said insistently. "I need to. I need to know that he's really gone."

He felt the chill of the morgue as soon as the heavy double doors slid open. Beverly pulled her wrap more closely around her shoulders; Picard, having only the protection of the uniform he wore, shivered.

The body, covered in its shroud, was just like all the others, one in the anonymity of death. Only the words on the display, "Jack R. Crusher," marked it out as having once been Beverly's husband, and Jean-Luc's friend. There was nothing left of the man now. But still, Picard felt a curious reluctance to touch his fingers to the fabric of the shroud, and fold it back. He could still feel Jack's resentful gaze upon him.

Beverly glanced at him expectantly.

"Jack will be remembered as a hero," he said, his voice sounding loud in his ears against the hush of the room. "He will receive a full military funeral, with honours. I'll make certain of that. I thought you should know."

"That's such a consolation," she replied, her voice heavy with irony. For a moment, she struggled to regain her composure, her eyes filled with unshed tears. But then she took hold of herself again.

"I'm ready."

Picard reached out, and slowly pulled back the shroud. Jack's face was unearthly pale, and bisected by a jagged scar—a mark of his violent death that could not be erased. But it was composed, serene in death as it had rarely been in life.

Beverly's own face was a strange echo of her husband's. She gazed at the body, seemingly stoic, but her pallor was deathly, and her face hollow. She looked much older than when Picard had seen her last.

"Tell me again how he died," she said softly.

And so he did, repeating the tale that he had already told countless times to friends, to admirals, to the enquiry into Jack's death. When, late one evening, he had come unannounced to Beverly's door bringing her the news, she had been too overcome with grief to listen or remember what had been said. In the repetition of the story, Picard had begun to feel that it was some sort of incantation, a spell to make him proof against harm. He had begun to believe it himself.

"Jack and I were sweeping the cliffs to the south of Quetta City," he began, "looking for survivors from the colony. We were prepared to meet with resistance, but my science officer had not predicted landslides. We had no warning; we may never know whether the rock was loosened by the subspace charges, or whether the colonists had planted a detonator, hoping to bring it down in order to cover their retreat.

"It happened so quickly; we had no time to react. I was caught in the landslide myself. I barely escaped it alive." He touched the regenerator that still clung to his temple, the relic of a rock that had flown further than most. "I was blinded by the dust, and by the time that it had settled, Jack was gone. He was dead by the time that we dug him out of the rubble. There was nothing we could do.

"I'm sorry, Beverly."

Picard put his hand on hers. The words _it should have been me_ stuck in his throat.

***

It was cold and brilliantly sunny, and the grass was silvered with frost, the day that they laid Jack Crusher in the ground. Picard entered the cemetery with the rest of the Starfleet brass, admirals and captains gathered together to pay tribute to a young man of promise. As such Jack would remain forever, his idealistic promise never dimmed by the compromises of reality. In some ways it was a gentle destiny.

Filing discreetly through the wrought-iron gates, Picard could see Beverly up ahead, receiving condolences, even though few of the arriving officers had known Jack personally, and fewer had ever met her. She stood alone, shrouded in a long black coat, her dark red hair pulled severely back. She had hidden her beauty and her advancing pregnancy alike, as if to show them would be indecent, signs of life continuing where Jack's could not. Her face was pale and strained, but she bore her burden with stoicism. He had not thought to see this inner fortitude of hers; Beverly was a steadier person than she had seemed.

Part of him wanted to go to her right then, to stand at her side, her arm in his, in front of everyone—to show the world that she belonged to him. But it was not possible. He could not, dared not, appear as anything to her—not, at least, until the enquiry into Jack's death had been completed. He was nothing more than Jack's commanding officer. Protocol would be observed. And that was all.

When he finally reached the front of the crowd, Picard approached her cautiously. Beverly's eyes lit up at the sight of him, and she stepped forward. It was not at all as it had been that day in the park; things were reversed now.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Crusher," said Picard formally, and extended his hand.

"Thank you, sir," she replied quietly. The hurt was obvious, in her eyes, in the half-hearted touch of her hand to his.

"It was a privilege to have your husband serving under my command. Jack was a fine man."

"I know." Beverly swallowed hard.

He clasped her hand for a moment longer, gazing into her face. Then he let it go. Whatever else she wanted, he could not give it to her.

"If there's anything I can do..."

"That's very kind of you."

But the words rang hollow, and both of them knew it.

***

"And love, grown faint and fretful  
With lips but half regretful  
Sighs, and with eyes forgetful  
Weeps that no loves endure."  
\--Algernon Charles Swinburne

"He acted like he hardly knew me," she said tearfully. "Like he didn't even..."

Beverly sat huddled in the corner of her couch, an old quilt tucked around her. It had been made for her by her grandmother, but it brought her precious little comfort now. She moved restlessly, unable to settle, wanting instinctively to take up her usual pose—arms wrapped around her legs, knees pulled up to her chin. But with all the flexibility that she still had—and worked hard to maintain—she simply could not fold her body into such a position at the moment. Every shift of her body reminded her of the obstacle of her pregnancy.

So, denied even this, she sat in uneasy asymmetry, legs tucked up underneath her, leaning against the arm of the couch, resting her chin on her hand.

"Don't you think he owes me more than that?" she demanded of her companion.

Walker Keel shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I don't know, Beverly..." he said finally.

It was a topic to which she had returned over and over during the long, slow afternoon since the funeral, despite herself, just as surely as she had begun again to fidget. Walker would be tired of it—she was tired of it herself.

_Be quiet, Beverly,_ she told herself. _Just leave it alone._

"What do you mean, Walker, you don't know?"

"Jean-Luc's done quite a bit for Jack, and for you as well. He organised the funeral, for one thing. I don't know if he told you."

"I just wish that he had talked to me," she said—hearing the plaintiveness in her own voice, and not caring.

"I wouldn't expect too much from him, even if Jack was his protégé. He's never been very good with people. Getting too close isn't really his style."

"Isn't it, Walker?" she replied bitterly. "Isn't it?"

There was a pause. Beverly could hear her own heart beating.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind." She looked down abruptly, fingering a square of the quilt, blood red with an edge of purple. "It's nothing. It was nothing..."

"Beverly... how well do you know Jean-Luc?"

"Well enough..." But his gaze upon her made it clear that this was not answer enough. "Too well," she admitted, defeated, and bowed her head. "Much too well."

"You're sleeping with him," said Walker flatly. "With Jack barely in the ground."

"No. I haven't since—since before this..." Delicately, she touched her rounded belly. "It was never intended to be permanent," she added, as if in mitigation.

"You mean, you and Jean-Luc—before Jack died...?"

"Yes, Walker," she burst out, unable to bear it any longer, "for the past two years! All right? Now are you satisfied?" And, helplessly, she felt herself beginning to cry.

"Two years! Beverly! Why on Earth?"

"You wouldn't understand," she said, trying to catch her breath. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"You're damn right I wouldn't understand!" He got to his feet and began to pace. "How could you do that to him? Beverly, you know how much the man loved you. Is the baby even Jack's?"

"My God, Walker, how can you ask me that? Of course the baby is Jack's! I'm not that incompetent, for one thing..."

"If I were you," Walker shot back scornfully, "I wouldn't bother worrying what people think of your professional skills."

"What do you think I am, Walker? Do you really think that I would..."

"I don't know what you would do, Beverly. I have no idea.

"But I do think," he continued, "that if the baby weren't his, this would have been a very convenient time for your husband to meet with an accident."

In that moment, it was as if she were weightless. She could feel nothing at all. _Breathe,_ thought the clinical part of her mind, never dormant for long. _You'll pass out if you don't breathe._ And then the baby moved inside her, and the world returned.

"Convenient to Jean-Luc, at least," he added.

"No," said Beverly, clenching her fists in the fabric of the quilt. "No. It isn't. It isn't his, it wasn't like that, there was no reason... Jean-Luc wouldn't do that."

"There are plenty of things I would have said that Jean-Luc wouldn't do," said Walker, studying her carefully.

***

"Princes, and ye whom pleasure quickeneth  
Heed well this rhyme before your pleasure tire;  
For life is sweet, but after life is death  
This is the end of every man's desire."  
\--Swinburne

He let himself into the flat, thinking to find her alone. With Jack dead, and Wesley staying with friends, he could expect that small luxury at least. It was dim, the curtains half pulled, as if she had not had the energy to open them all the way, or the strength to stand the light. And there, in the midst of the untidy living room, was the woman for whom he had sold his soul. Beverly sat curled up on the couch, clutching a pillow to her chest, as if it was a surrogate for the touch of her dead husband. She looked up as Picard entered the room, the surprise evident on her face. Or was it guilt? For, sitting in an armchair, as if he had a right to be there...

"Walker."

"Jean-Luc," replied Walker, in an equally cautious tone. "Didn't think I would see you after the funeral. Shouldn't you be getting back to the _Stargazer_?"

"I came to speak with Beverly."

"Be my guest. I'm sure you have plenty to talk about."

"Alone," Picard added.

"You don't need to go, Walker..." interjected Beverly tentatively, her glance darting between the two men.

Walker laughed, a cheerless sound. "I think Jean-Luc would rather I did. Perhaps he'll make better company than me. Take care of yourself, Beverly."

And with a nod at her, he withdrew. The door hissed shut behind him.

Beverly got gracefully to her feet. And Picard stood still, as he had at the funeral, gazing into those blue-grey eyes of hers. Her face was tear-stained, and her hair, which had been so carefully pulled back at the funeral, was now coming loose, hanging in wisps around her face. Quite simply, she was lovely, although there was no reason why she should have been.

Finally, with difficulty, Beverly broke the silence: "Where were you? I hardly saw you this morning..." Her voice was not accusing, but weak with grief.

"Beverly, I couldn't," said Picard firmly. "Not in front of that many people. Think of what would be said—only a week after your husband's death. Can you imagine how that would look?"

"I don't care. It has nothing to do with that..."

"It has everything to do with that, and you know it."

"And so you just abandon me?"

"That's not—"

"Oh, Jean-Luc," she said tearfully, and reached out to him. For a moment, he held her cradled in his arms, allowing her to relax against him. It had been nearly a year. He kissed her almost without thinking, pressing his lips to her soft skin, drinking in the smell and the touch and the taste of her. The wave of desire that swept him was automatic, triggered by her faint scent and by the brush of her hair against his cheek, not diminished by the passage of time. But her body was altered, softer, more rounded—even in the contours of her face—and she had to lean forward in order to lay her head on his shoulder. The child that she was carrying made it impossible for him to hold her any closer. It reminded him that she was not the woman that he had once known, for all of her warmth in his arms.

He released her and took a step backwards. Beverly looked up at him, confusion in her eyes, caught between his actions and the gentleness of his touch.

"You're not going to stay with me, are you...?" In her faltering voice, he read a full consciousness of her position, and of how she now appeared to him.

"Do you want all of Starfleet to know that you cuckolded your much-beloved husband, Beverly? Will it really help your reputation? Better by far to be honoured as the widow of a hero—even if you don't deserve it."

"You promised me that you would protect me if anything happened to Jack," she continued, beginning to sound panicky. "That was the agreement..."

Picard said nothing.

"I'll have Walker if I don't have you!"

"You will most certainly not have Walker Keel!" snapped Picard, furious.   
"And just how are you going to stop me?" she replied quickly—the same impulsive, passionate woman that she had always been.

Abruptly Picard wondered what he had been thinking back on Quetta. In the heat of that confrontation, faced with the clear evidence of Jack's insubordination, it had seemed just as inevitable as a conclusion in Euclid. Jack could not be allowed to live. And then, and then, and then, the glorious consequences of his necessary actions... Beverly would be unquestionably his. For good.

Now she was his, if he chose to have her, but it did not seem so simple. The woman he had taken as a lover three years ago had been young, alluring, and almost unattainable; he had relished the challenge, and the pleasure of possessing his best friend's wife. And he had been left free. An affair with a married woman had been, quite simply, ideal. But Beverly was not married now; nor was she unattainable. She was a widow with a five-year-old son, and heavily pregnant with another child—not his child.

He owed her nothing, of course. He could leave her behind, go with no explanation, and there would be nothing she could do. In the end, of course, her life would go on. She would marry again, whether to Walker or to someone else—of that he was certain. Beverly would never feel complete without a man by her side.

But that thought filled him with an unreasoning rage. Beverly was his. No other man should have her. He could not bear it.

"You don't want to know how I would stop you," he said. "I would. Rest assured of that."

Now it was Beverly's turn to back away. Her eyes went wide.

"What are we going to do with you, Beverly?"

"Whatever you want," she whispered, obviously terrified, an echo of a long ago conversation. "You always have."

"Oh, and I will. But if I were you, I wouldn't complain. After all, you've got what you wanted from the start, haven't you?"

She shook her head, bewildered.

"You're the captain's woman," he said, as if she should have known.

~The End~

 

"My love I call her, and she loves me well:  
But I love her as in the maelstrom's cup  
The whirled stone loves the leaf inseparable  
That clings to it round all the circling swell  
And that the last same eddy swallows up."  
\--D.G. Rossetti

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Ceremonial Weapons (The How to Play the Pawn while Advancing your own Agenda Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/125550) by [cleo (miri_cleo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miri_cleo/pseuds/cleo)




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